Running
by RussoGermany
Summary: Beacon Heights. A city born by corruption after the Great Revolution. Stiles is a Runner. A criminal. A good guy. He's one who sees through the lies and deceptions until one day, when a bad fall takes him out. He wakes up in the apartment of Officer Hale, confused and in shock. Will the criminal be arrested for good? Rated M for language, violence, and more. Cover by Torakodragon.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Teen Wolf or Mirror's Edge.**_

_**A/N: This would be my second Teen Wolf story! I've been playing a lot of Mirror's Edge recently, and this thought just popped up into my mind. EVEN IF you haven't played the game, you don't have to worry because it is not at all important to the story. I hope you all enjoy it! So saving my ranting for the end of the chapter, please READ, REVIEW, FAVORITE, and ENJOY! Here's chapter 1:**_

* * *

The average person sees things for what they are.

They see the sidewalk as the sidewalk. They see buildings as buildings. They see the subways as subways. Monorails are transportation. Rooftops seal the building and keep the weather from coming in. Helicopters can be used for news or transport. Telephone wires carry calls. Air ducts supply the buildings in which they work and live with nice air conditioning or heat.

The average person obeys rules for what they say.

They live their lives as an upright citizen should. They follow all rules without question. There is no grey area for them. If a crime is committed, regardless of the circumstances, it is punishable by incarceration, and even death. The city's harsh rules seem to serve as a general deterrent from all crimes, and the people who live there don't seem to mind. They make their general wages from the average work shift that they take, be it a nine to five job, or a night shift.

The average person sees people for what society deems them to be.

A gentle soul, one that everyone trusts and loves can be completely shattered and shunned in an instant if society says that is what's to be done. Scumbags and the corrupt have a vast opportunity to rule, granted that they can manipulate enough people to fall under their control. These puppeteers have a vast array of people working under them. Though their souls may be as black as the abyss itself, if society sees them do something they deem "good"…well then they might as well be saints to the average person.

Before the Great Revolution, Beacon Hills was a just town. After the Great Revolution and the corporate takeovers, Beacon Heights, a city reborn with a new name and a new face, was built on deception.

The average person lives in the false world which hides the corruption. They live by it. They suffer by it. They die by it. All without knowing what is really happening.

Stiles Stilinski is not an average person.

He is a Runner.

Runners see things for what they can become.

The whole city is grounds for them to run. Skylines are transport. Buildings become pathways and a means to get around. Rooftops are ideal for commute, as they can easily leap from one to the next. Skyscrapers offer some of the most versatile terrain for them to explore, be it climbing on scaffolding or wall climbing stories above the street. The bottoms of helicopters present rails for a runner to hitch a ride on. Air ducts are the fastest way to clients who might happen to be inside a building.

Runners see rules for what they really are.

They keep the average person trapped in the lies and deception. They keep the average person from discovering the truth. They keep everyone shackled down and ward them away from breaking through the deception. Sure, some of the rules are actually necessary, but some of them are just plain extreme. Runners see through the smoke and they see the world for what it really is…shattered.

Runners see people for what they actually are.

They see the corrupt as the corrupt, and the just as the just. They see the strings that tether the puppets to the puppeteers. Runners have all of the intel on all of the criminals that are in control of the city. They know exactly how much money they are stealing, who it's coming from, and what political scandals go on underneath the table.

Speaking of criminals, Runners are criminals.

Officially, they don't exist in the eyes of the general public and the normal police force. But, they are considered the most dangerous of people to those who know of Runners. The classified branch of the police who are dedicated to bringing down the Runners, also known as the Blues, are always on high alert. They are hired directly by the various corporations' top executives and the high-up government officials in Beacon Heights. They are constantly trying to find runners and bring them down. They don't know what they are, or what they carry, but they only know that command says that they are ruthless vigilantes.

Of course, when a criminal is in control, they'll divert all attention away from themselves. On the rare occasion that a Runner is caught by the Blues, they are usually tried as terrorists, conspirators, murderers, and those who commit the highest acts of treason. If incarcerated, Runners will always be given the death penalty.

But why are Runners regarded as such?

The intel which they carry for their clients is powerful enough to bring down entire corporations. They can shed light on almost any scandal. If they have a supplier, and a client who is willing to purchase the information, then the Runners are contacted. But, like anyone on the front lines, there's always someone behind the scenes directing everything.

That's where Lydia Martin comes into play. She directs Stiles.

Lydia gets the intel from the supplier, either digitally or in person, and she gives it to Stiles to transport to the client. She has all of the blueprints of the buildings in the city, and using comm-links, she guides Stiles effortlessly through the city to deliver the package. That makes her one of the city's most wanted criminals as well. But she, like Stiles, is kept hidden from the public eye for her job as Director. Even though the police are constantly searching for Runners and Directors, they are instructed to try them for other things for one reason: to keep the corruption hidden from the public for as long as possible. If the public knew about Runners, then there would be no hope whatsoever for the real criminals. They try to hide their evil corporations' true intentions.

And that's where Stiles is now.

He's on the roof of MechaCorp. He lost the Blues ages ago, and right now he's just waiting for his client. This is the part Stiles doesn't like. The supplier and the client hire two different runners. The intel travels between the supplier and the client via two middlemen. It leaves too much room for error, but it throws the Blues off. It's much harder to track two runners instead of one singular runner.

"Lydia," Stiles says loud enough for the comm to pick up. "How much longer do I have to wait until the other one gets here?"

"The second Runner is on their way," Lydia's voice says into his ear. "I've tapped into the security cams in the surrounding area, as well as the Blues' network. You've got about five minutes to do the handoff and get the fuck out of there."

"Dammit…" Stiles ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Well what's the hold up?"

"The second Runner had a harder time ditching the Blues," Lydia replied. "What do you expect? You're always faster than the rest! That's why you're the city's best Runner."

Stiles smirked.

It was definitely true. He was the city's best Runner. Rumors of the Red Hood were exchanged between the clients and the suppliers, all clamoring to hire the mysterious Runner. If you needed a top secret delivery, then he was the one that you wanted to contact. In his two years of service, he slipped through the most heavily guarded corporations and pulled the curtain down on five different scandals. Of course, others earned the credit for exposing them, but all who know of Runners knew it was the Red Hood.

He used these rumors to his advantage. It was believed that the Red Hood wore exactly that, a red hoodie. Everything else was black. His sweatpants, gloves, and shoes were all said to be as black as the night. However, that was only one time. Stiles only wore that on one delivery, when he evaded the city's entire SWAT team under the control of the Blues to expose the legendary Eastwing scandal. Not only had he made the SWAT team look like complete buffoons, but he also brought down the entire governing body of the city. Ever since rumors of the Red Hood had surfaced among potential employers, he ditched the uniform.

Stiles does still sport red, but it's always only on his gloves and his shoes. His pants are grey cargo pants, and his tank-top is black. While most runners sport tattoos, Stiles still refuses to get one. He hates needles, and the one time he sat through Lydia getting a tattoo, he passed out. But Stiles wasn't thinking about any of that at the moment.

All he was thinking about was where the damn Runner was. He heard footsteps behind him, soft and light. Stiles whipped around…and cracked a smile.

The Runner's grey sweatpants were slightly torn, and there was a discernible bullet hole in the brown holster on their leg. The Runner's skintight black under armor and red tank-top which showed off the Runner's physique quite nicely were slightly wet due to sweat, and the black shoes were worn out. The only things that seemed fresh on the Runner were the white gloves, the wavy blonde hair, and the charming smile of Isaac Lahey.

"Isaac," Stiles teased slightly. "You're late."

"Well we can't all keep up with the Red Hood," Isaac replied. "Okay Lydia, I'm taking the handoff."

"Good Isaac, but hurry. I need to get both of you out of there now," Lydia said with urgency, the tapping of her fingers on her keyboards were slightly audible through the comms.

Stiles tossed the yellow bag clutched in his hand to Isaac, and then gave him a thumbs up. "Shit! The wires are buzzing with activity! A chopper spotted you guys! You have sixty seconds tops before the Blues find you! Doubling back through MechaCorp isn't an option. The Blues are heading up through the building. Make your way towards the crane at the end of the roof."

Stiles and Isaac took off at full speed, with Stiles leading his fellow Runner across the sturdy beam that supported the cable. Carefully, Stiles sat on the end of the beam, and leaned backwards until he was upside down, a hundred stories up, hanging only by the back of his legs so that he could reach the cable. Once he was on the cable, he slid down a bit so Isaac could copy him.

"The crane is supporting a bundle of steel supports that are approximately thirty-five stories down," Lydia instructed. "If you slide down the cable, then you can each head your separate ways through the adjacent buildings."

They did as they were instructed, and each ran at opposite sides of the supports, jumping onto the buildings nearby. Stiles rolled to take away the impact of his jump, and he sprang off in the direction of the Beacon Heights Forrest. He did an aerial over an air vent, and leapt to another building, this one lower than his current location.

Stiles continued to leap from building to building, each one lower than the next so that he could get closer to the ground and he could use the taller buildings to shield himself. He was on a seven-story high building when he heard the chopper. Stiles smirked, knowing that the chopper couldn't navigate through the buildings. But what came next made Stiles panic.

"STILES! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! THAT BLUES CHOPPER HAS SNIPERS ON IT!" Lydia screamed through Stiles' comm.

Stiles was five steps, or five stories, ahead of Lydia. He had spotted a Corporate Comm-link Cable between his rooftop and one far away. He used it as a makeshift zip-line and was heading at top speed away from the snipers. "I got it Lydia! I'm on the cable."

But Stiles' victory was short lived.

The cable he was sliding on was no longer taut. It was limp.

And it was falling.

The snipers shot the cable.

Luckily for Stiles, he was close enough to the ground that he was able to avoid serious damage.

"STILES!" he heard Lydia shout.

Then everything went black.

* * *

_**So what did you think? The story is just beginning, and it's going to get very intense. I promise that Officer!Derek is coming soon, so don't worry! I'll try to get a lot of the characters from the show involved, but I don't want it to turn out like character vomit, where it seems like the interactions are forced. But for now, all you need to know is that the main Runners are Stiles and Isaac, and that Lydia is their Director. Anonymous reviews are active! No flat out hate please. So please leave a REVIEW, FAVORITE, and FOLLOW! It helps me get my work out faster because I'm motivated!**_

_**See you next week (hopefully)!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Teen Wolf.**_

_**A/N: Oh my gosh! I didn't expect such a response from the first chapter! This was just a random idea in my head! Thank you…all of you! As I said, I had a flood of updates, so why not throw this into the mix! So, saving my ranting for the end of the chapter, please READ, REVIEW, FAVORITE, and ENJOY! Here's chapter 2:**_

* * *

Great. Another unproductive day as cop. Unfortunately for Derek, he had been stuck on traffic cop duty today, and that was about the worst thing ever.

The.

Worst.

Fucking.

Job.

He knew that everyone would catch a glimpse of his car, and then slam on the breaks so that they would be going the exact speed limit that was posted, but that was total bullshit. Every cop knew that nobody really drove the speed limit. It was the one law that everyone broke, and no one cared that they did.

Derek loved his job as a cop. Protecting the city, doing service to advance towards the greater good, become a hometown hero, that's all that Derek wanted. However, no one really broke any laws after the Great Revolution.

Unless you count all of the people who the Corporation Police, or as they were referred to by the regular police: Blues.

Those people seemed to be busting big-time criminals every so often, and the definitely saw more action than the regular police. It was kind of weird, Derek had always thought. How come the Blues had so much more intel and punished more crimes than the regular police?

Enemies of the corporations?

And Derek had to admit that most of the convicts that he had seen didn't even look like they were capable of committing the crimes that they had been incarcerated for.

* * *

There was once a young man.

A young man named Jackson Whittemore.

He had been accused of killing more than seventy people in the span of three months. The public was completely outraged and they wanted nothing more than the man's death. But something didn't seem right to Derek.

He had personally known Jackson before the Great Revolution, and Jackson had nothing but admiration for justice. He always followed the rules as a young boy, and he even aspired to be a cop. During all of the revolts, he had disappeared, and Derek thought he had died. It was a real blast from the past when he saw his old childhood friend on trial. And it wasn't just his personal connections that made him question the Blues.

Nothing seemed to add up.

The testimonies from the private trial were typed up, but any person with common sense could see that they had been edited. Derek tried to look into the trial in his spare time, but he hadn't seen a single name of any person who Jackson had killed. Certainly he would be able to find a body or two at the morgue that was linked back to Jackson, but there were none. There were no records of cremations, no bodies found, and no funerals held for anyone who was murdered.

Derek presented his findings to his fellow cop, Scott McCall, and Scott had felt the same way. With the two of them supporting the same theories and producing the same questions, they decided to bring them up with Chief Stilinski. However, the Chief would hear none of it.

During their meeting, they presented all of their findings to the Chief, and they had laid out all of their theories in front of him. However, Chief Stilinski pulled out a red envelope, which contained a single piece of paper.

On the paper, there were 26 names.

There was a blank line at the top of the paper, and from that blank line, there were two lines that branched off and connected to two names: Peter Hale and Jackson Whittemore.

To each of those names, there were three more attached.

To each of those names, three more were attached.

Supposedly, it was the organization of a large-scale terror organization. There were red lines through the faces of those that had been caught, and there were blue circles around those who were yet to be found. Even though Derek and Scott had presented really sound logic, the Chief didn't accept any of it.

"But sir! How come no one who has died has shown up anywhere? They haven't been able to produce a single body!" Derek argued.

"Yeah, and they said he used explosives in one case, but there's been no sign of any explosions around the city. No extensive damage. Nothing. Not even in the sewers!" Scott backed up.

"How can we just accept that these people are really dangerous?!"

"BECAUSE THEY FUCKING KILLED MY FAMILY!" The Chief shouted. "I SAW MY WIFE DIE BEFORE MY OWN EYES!"

Dead silence.

Tears were streaming down Chief Stilinski's aged face, and he made no effort to stop them.

He had a right to mourn his family's deaths.

And so help any man who would dare tell him otherwise…

After a few more seconds of stunned silence, the Chief started back up again.

"I received a letter one day," Stilinski began. "There was only one sentence in the letter. It had a time, and a link. When I followed the directions, what I found was my wife being held in a chair. The men in the picture were all wearing ski masks, and they were holding guns to my wife's head. They said one thing…and then they shot her."

Silence again filled the room. A pin drop could have been heard.

"What did they say sir?"

The Chief tensed up for a moment, exhaled, and then looked Scott straight in the face.

"We killed your son already."

And then it was clear why Chief Stilinski just went along with everything the Blues had reported. It was personal. These "terrorists" had killed his family. Or that's what someone wanted him to believe.

* * *

Derek continued his walk home. At least the sun was out. Derek stopped on the bridge he was currently on and looked up at the sky. A crystal blue that stretched on endlessly in every direction welcomed him. He used to love cloud watching with his sisters, while enjoying a nice evening in their house along with their parents. They would have family dinner, tell the stories of the day's particular events, and maybe end the day watching television together for a while.

Derek missed all of that.

But at least Scott had been like a brother to him. He considered Scott his only family, after his psychotic uncle had been captured.

Of all these so called "terrorists" that had been captured, the only one that he didn't doubt was his uncle.

And he had his reasons for that.

For starters, he was the only killer for whom they could produce bodies.

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard quickly approaching footsteps behind him. He whipped around and found no one there. Derek heard the footsteps again, but this time, they seemed to be above him. He looked up, and there, running across the transparent roof that sheltered the bridge, was a blonde man.

"Hey!" Derek shouted. "Get down from there!"

The blonde whipped around and he had a panicked look on his face. But that lasted for all of one second, until the mysterious man winked once, and did a back dive off of the bridge. Derek ran over to the edge and saw the blonde correct himself so that he landed on his feet just in time on top of a semi-truck. He rolled to absorb some of the impact of the fall, and the truck just kept driving. With one final wave at Derek Hale, the blonde man disappeared.

"Derek!"

He just couldn't catch a fucking break from people today, could he?

"Yes?" Derek turned around, and saw Scott.

"So are you just going to keep leaving without me?" Scott returned. "I thought that since we lived in the same apartment complex that we could walk together!"

"Scott…" Derek sighed. "Just because we're partners in the force doesn't mean we have anything more than a professional relationship."

"Yeah, I know that," Scott replied. "But you're like family to me. Stiles and I used to do practically everything together, so I guess I'm just used to that kind of thing."

"Whatever," Derek grumbled.

They turned the corner, and they were getting further away from the heart of the city. The traffic flow was still kind of heavy, as most of the workers in the city lived in the surrounding apartments and suburban areas. But that didn't catch Derek's eye. What did was the helicopter flying towards MechaCorp. And that definitely could not be a good sign.

"So Derek, are you coming over tonight?" Scott inquired, but Derek wasn't really paying attention. "You know, because the Chief is coming over tonight? He's a good friend of my mom's and tonight is…well…it's the anniversary of his wife's death…"

"Huh?" Derek said absentmindedly, still eyeing the helicopter.

"Yeah, he's coming over tonight to my place, and I was hoping that you could join us! Or better yet, do you think we could come up to your place because there's more room?" Scott gave Derek big, brown puppy dog eyes, and Derek couldn't say no.

"Alright…but you're bringing the food," Derek agreed.

"OH SHIT! I FORGOT FOOD!" Scott shouted abruptly. "Hey, I gotta run to the market real quick! I'll see you back at the apartments!"

And just like that, Derek was alone.

Again.

He started walking again, thoughts clouding his mind. '_Why would there be a SWAT helicopter headed towards the city? The alarms haven't gone off, so it's not a citywide emergency…_' Derek pondered. '_Nothing's been making sense with the Blues. Oh well…I should really just be worrying about surviving tonight right now. Comforting people isn't really my thing._'

Derek rounded another corner, the sun was a little lower than when he had begun his walk home, but he still had a few hours until sundown. That was the good thing about having an earlier shift: Derek could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the day. It's not like he ever had anything to do, but it was always nice just to have the option. He was only a block from his apartment building, and then he would be able to take off the uniform and grab a drink to unwind.

That's when he heard it.

It started low, but it was definitely there. There was a vibration of some sort. It sounded like the bottom of a zip line, where those at the end could tell that someone was on the way down based on the vibration of the line. It grew louder and louder, but even that couldn't prepare Derek for what he heard next.

BANG!

A gunshot?

The Comm-link cable that was above his street went limp.

Then he heard an even louder sound in the alley only ten feet in front of him.

Derek started to run towards it, but he quickly dodged the cable that slapped the ground just before he got hurt. He glanced in the alley, and he saw a single foot sticking out of the dumpster. He ran over towards the dumpster as fast as he could, and Derek hoisted the man out of it. He checked to see if he was bleeding, and thank goodness he wasn't. Next he checked to see if anything looked broken, but he seemed fine.

But the man was still unconscious.

Without thinking, Derek carried the man as fast as his feet would allow him up to his apartment. When he reached the door, he fished quickly for the keys in his left pocket, and unlocked the door. Once inside, he laid the mysterious man down on the couch gently, and he grabbed his First-Aid kit just in case the man needed it when he woke up.

There was something familiar about this young man on his couch.

Derek couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen him somewhere before.

He shook his head, but curiosity reeled him in again. He looked over the man's body, looking for anything that might identify him. The only thing out of the ordinary with this man, other than the fact that he fell into a dumpster, was the wireless Comm-link in his ear.

Derek carefully reached for it, lifting the device out of the man's ear, and putting it in his own.

There was a female voice on the other end.

And she kept saying one thing.

"Wake up Stilinski!"

* * *

_**So what did you think of chapter 2? I threw in a little bit of Isaac getting to the building for you, and Stiles wakes up next chapter! But what will happen when Chief Stilinski arrives at Derek's apartment?! Tune in next week to find out! Anonymous reviews are active, but no flat out hate please. Show how much you enjoyed the story by leaving a REVIEW, FOLLOWING the story, or FAVORITING it! Until next time!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Teen Wolf or Mirror's Edge.**_

_**A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a while! I'm back with chapter 3, picking up right where we left off. I've been getting quite a few questions about Isaac and his involvement as a Runner, and I'll go more into his story as well as the tale continues. Anyways, saving my ranting for the end of the chapter, please READ, REVIEW, FAVORITE, and ENJOY! Here's chapter 3:**_

* * *

"Stiles! Get up! You need to get out of there now!"

The mysterious woman wouldn't stop shouting.

Not that Derek cared.

Only one piece of information was of importance right now.

He didn't care that the woman was still speaking, although he did wonder who she was. No the only thing that Derek truly cared about at the moment was the man who was currently laying on his couch.

Stiles Stilinski, the Chief's son, believed to be dead.

Was alive.

And in his apartment.

"According to the tracker, your comm is moving, can you hear me Stiles? Are you okay?" The panicked voice kept coming through the comm, but Derek couldn't speak up. He debated it for a moment, but before he could, the voice started saying something particularly interesting. "Stiles…if there's a problem with your mic, then just listen to me. According to my data, you're in the apartment of Derek Hale, a police officer. He's not a Blue, but I don't know what he's capable of. My records show that he's argued against the trials of the Blues before. He's even got a personal connection with…"

With? Derek was dying to know the name that seemingly hung onto the tip of her tongue.

"…you know…my…he's got a connection with Jackson…"

Derek was stunned.

How did she know this much about his supposedly private life?

Where did she get her intel?

"Get this," her voice continued through the comm. "It's not just…you know…but there's two other prominent people I'm seeing in his personnel file. His police partner and neighbor is Scott, and his boss is your dad…"

Who was this woman? Who was Stiles involved with? What the fuck is going on?! All questions running through Derek's mind, but there was still only one prominent thought among all of the dismay: the Chief's son is alive, but the Chief had no idea that Stiles was.

"Look Stiles…there's nothing here about his involvement with Runners, so I think you might be safe."

Runners?

"That being said, if he saw the chopper after you, I don't think he'll be eager to take your side. It all depends on if he believes all of the shit that the Blues are feeding the police. Either way, you've got to get out of there now. I don't care how you do it, but you need to…"

Derek sneezed.

Silence from the woman.

Fuck.

Derek fucked up.

Big time.

He needed her to keep talking. But playing it off wasn't going to work. It seemed as though the woman had already figured everything out. Her voice came out of the comm again, but this time it was cautious…calculated…cold.

"Listen to me," she started. "I'm assuming this is Officer Hale. If you care about saving the life of another human, or if you value your own life at all, you will not interfere with the man before you."

"Who are you?" Derek inquired with false confidence.

"We are the truth. We are the light. We pull back the curtains and reveal the shit that's really happening. We are few. We are powerful. We live in the gloss between reality and the fantasy world corruption has created. We live on the edge. But officially, we are no one."

"I don't know you," Derek spoke up. "But I can tell you this: we'll find you."

"If you're wise, you won't," the woman spat back. "If you believe everything the Blues say, then go ahead and be their fucking puppet. But if you truly want to fight for justice, then you'll side with us. Now leave the man alone."

"I can't do that," he replied. "His father needs to know he's alive."

"Of course he's alive," the woman laughed. "He's a survivor. Hell, he even does half of your fucking work for you on a day to day basis!"

"You don't understand," Derek tried to argue. "Tonight's the anniversary of his wife's death, and the anniversary of the day he was told that his son was killed as well. He needs to know he's alive."

"I don't trust you."

"I know you don't, but you've pretty much just recited my life and relationships back to me in full," Derek pointed out. "Anyways, just from examining his body, it seems that he has a sprained ankle. He won't be going anywhere fast." He hoped that the lie would allow Derek to keep Stiles here just until his father arrived.

"We'll see about that," the woman threatened. The line went dead for a few brief moments, and then she returned. "He'll be out of there whether you like it or not."

Derek had one final hope.

But it was based on one bit of information that he had heard moments ago.

He knew nothing of the woman.

It would be a complete gamble.

"What if it were Jackson?"

The line went dead. The woman would not be returning anymore. Her voice would no longer come from the comm, no matter how long Derek sat in front of it. She was his lifeline for information, and now she was gone. But Stiles wasn't.

* * *

Stiles' head was pounding like a fucking drum as he opened his eyes. The fall wasn't too bad, but he did hit his head, and that was never good. He tried to sit up, only to discover that he wasn't in the dumpster he remembered aiming for as he fell. He was lying on a black couch in the middle of someone's living room. He glanced to the side and looked out the window. He vaguely recognized the street outside the window as the residential area of the city. Thankfully from the rest of the apartment, it seemed like he was in the nicer part of the suburbs.

"Ugh…" Stiles grunted as brought a hand up to gently rub the back of his head. "Lydia, where am I?"

No response.

That's when Stiles noticed that his comm was gone.

"Fuck!" He looked around the room, and there was no sign of his comm anywhere. He knew it couldn't have fallen out, because no matter what deliveries his been on, or how far he's fallen, the comm has never come out. That could only mean one thing: someone took it.

Stiles crossed the room quietly, and he opened one of the doors on the side. It led to what Stiles assumed was the master bedroom, and the ceiling light was turned on. In the back corner of the room, another door was opened and light was leaking from it as well. Stiles approached, but he stopped just behind the dresser so that he would have something for cover. He was about to proceed when he heard the footsteps. Stiles positioned himself so that he would be ready to attack, but he hesitated when he saw who walked through the door.

Out of the door walked a man with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp from showering, and his muscles glistened slightly with some droplets of water still on them. He was fucking ripped, but right now all Stiles was concerned about was the possible outcome of a struggle between them. Thankfully, Stiles was able to strike first.

He snuck up behind the man, and before he could register what was happening, Stiles jerked his arm up behind his back and simultaneously pressed his face into the wall. "Who are you?! Where's my comm?!" Stiles shouted, but the man definitely had some strength in him. He pulled his arm free of Stiles' grasp and body checked him. The toweled-man whipped around to face Stiles, but he was met with a sweeping kick to knock him off of his feet.

The second hold came, but Stiles made sure that this one was more painful. He jumped onto the man, and landed with his forearm at the man's neck and his knees on either side of the man's hips. Stiles asked again. "Who the fuck are you?! Where am I?"

Another unexpected move came from the man. Stiles felt two knees hit him square in the ass, causing him to jerk forward. He climbed off of the man, who stood up and braced himself for the next attack. Stiles met his invitation with a kick aimed at the side of his head. The man grabbed his foot, but before he could do anything, Stiles spun. His right foot came up over the hand that was currently occupied with his left foot and connected with his intended target. Stiles caught himself with his hands, and then put the man's neck in a leg lock. He flung the man using his feet with all his might, causing the man to land on the bed with a rather hard impact.

Taking advantage of the brief separation, Stiles grabbed the combat knife with the city's police logo on it from the nightstand and pulled it out of its sheath. When the man got back up, Stiles used his body to press the man completely against the wall. He held the knife up to his neck, used one hand to restrain the man's hands above his head, and put one foot behind the other to brace incase the man tried to foolishly push forward.

"Derek!" the man said hurriedly. "My name is Derek Hale. I found you in the dumpster and I took you in here so that you could recuperate. You seemed like you had a nasty fall."

"And my comm?"

"It's in the drawer in my nightstand," Derek said. "Now please lower the knife! I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help," Stiles shot coldly. "Believe me, you'd wish that you hadn't anyways." He pulled away from Derek, slowly lowering the knife as he did so. He crossed over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. He picked the comm out and placed it in his ear. As he adjusted the comm in his ear, the room spun. His head still hurt pretty badly. He shouldn't be running after a fall like that. Minor concussions could get worse if he pushed it too badly. At least, that's what Stiles thought it was. Stiles started to wobble, and he fell sideways. Derek rushed to his side to catch him before he fell completely.

"Are you okay?" Derek said with a voice full of concern. He held a warm hand up to Stiles' face, cupping it gently while using his thumb to rub Stiles' temple. His parents used to do that to him whenever his head had hurt, so he assumed that it would help Stiles. Truth is, Derek didn't know what was wrong, but the way Stiles was positioned when he found him in the dumpster, and the way his hand was clasping his head now gave some indication to the problem. "Let me get you some aspirin!"

Derek went to the bathroom to look through the medicine cabinet, while Stiles headed out back into the living room. "Lydia!" he hissed. "Lydia help me!"

"Stiles!" she breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you're okay!"

"I wouldn't say okay," Stiles admitted. "My head is pounding, and my leg kind of hurts."

"That's okay," Lydia explained. "I've sent Isaac to come and get you. But listen to me; I don't think Derek will report you. Based on his records, I think you'll be safe for now. However, I don't know what happened after I cut communication."

"Wait…you talked to him?"

"Shut up!" Lydia snapped. "I thought you had a problem with the mic! Anyways, Isaac's on the third floor right now, and he'll be right there to get you."

As Lydia finished speaking, Derek walked out. He was now somewhat dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, but he held the aspirin in his hand. "Take this," he said as he handed the pill to Stiles. He recognized the pill as an effective painkiller and took it right away. Once he swallowed the pill, Stiles nodded his thanks.

Ding-dong!

"Oh, I need to get that," Derek said with tones of excitement laced in his voice. "Wait here." Derek walked out of the room, into a long hallway that led to the front door. "I'm coming!" he shouted as the bell rang again. "One second!"

The next thing Stiles knew, the window opened, and in slipped Isaac.

"Hey!" he greeted happily. "What's up?"

"I had a little trouble," Stiles said sheepishly. "What about the delivery? Did you make it?"

"Yep," Isaac assured. "I came over here as soon as I finished. They're a little trigger happy now aren't they?"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "C'mon, let's get out of here before…"

Stiles saw Isaac's eyes go wide. Isaac was facing towards the hallway where Derek had gone, but Stiles had his back to it completely. He glanced into Isaac's eyes for a brief moment, and they were full of nothing but shock. It looked as though his whole world had come crashing down around him. He uttered one word.

"…Scott?"

Stiles froze as the words hit his ear.

They were shaky, and Stiles could detect a hint of defeated hope in them.

They sounded heavyhearted and fragile.

The next voice was familiar, as though it were from a faded dream or a distant memory. He had heard the voice almost every day during his childhood, and it sent shivers down his spine.

"…Isaac…you're alive…"

Stiles didn't have the heart to turn around. He didn't want Scott to see his face. Ever since Stiles had disappeared during the Great Revolution, he hadn't even once tried to contact anyone from his past life. Lydia took him in, and he pushed his former life to the side. No…it wasn't Scott that could get him to turn around…but someone else.

"I can't…Derek…is that really him?"

Stiles' began to cry.

"Yes Ms. McCall," Derek said.

"Are you…are you sure?" Scott's voice said.

"Yeah…I am," Derek replied once again.

The final person spoke up, and Stiles broke down as he did so.

"Stiles…son…"

Stiles turned around, tears streaming down his face.

"Hi dad..."

* * *

_**So what did you think? I had fun writing this scene! Although I wasn't sure for a while how I was going to do it. The next chapter is already written, so I'll post that sometime soon! But for now, please tell me what you think! Anonymous reviews are active, no flat out hate please. So leave a REVIEW, and don't forget to FOLLOW or FAV!**_

_**Until next time!**_


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